


Breast Side Up

by someinstant



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-02
Updated: 2010-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:32:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someinstant/pseuds/someinstant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gravity, levity, Kon, Tim, and Mexican soap operas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breast Side Up

Watching Mexican soaps upside down doesn't actually make the acting any better, Kon discovers. Instead it just puts the voluminous cleavage at the top of the screen instead of the bottom, and really, Kon can get behind that.

It's not that he's culturally insensitive, or at least not on *purpose*, but Kon only knows just enough Spanish to order a burrito and inadvertently insult the waiter's shoelaces while he's at it, and he really doesn't think trying to figure out *why* Teresa-of-the-heaving-breasts is sobbing will increase his comprehension that much.

Thus, the upside down boob-watching.

Whoever said that the life of a superhero was action-packed *lied*. Because Kon knows better now. The life of a superhero-- at least, a teenage one-- involves long freaking lectures about criminology and sociology and random-crap-Kon-won't-remember-ology, and training for hours and hours while people yell at you to do *better*, be *better*, and then there's the waiting for someone to *do* something.

Kon's not very good at waiting.

He thinks it's maybe a bad thing that some part of his brain lights up with a big, blinking neon "Yay! Bad guys taking over a major metropolitan area! Time to hit things!" sign whenever shit hits the fan.

But shit *hasn't* hit the fan for, like, a year, and there aren't any more lectures today, and Kon doesn't even want to look at the training room right now. He's too busy being bored out of his skull, flopped over the back of the couch in the Titan's lounge, watching Mexican daytime television.

Which really sucks a *lot*, he thinks, because that woman's still crying, and now there's this big vase of red flowers blocking his view of her chest and this just isn't interesting at *all*--

"Think it's really Reinaldo's baby?"

\-- and *shit* Tim has to stop doing that, because it's better if he only jumps that high outside. That's the third dent he's put in the ceiling this month. Vic and Kory are going to eviscerate him. Or at least try very very hard to do so.

"Were you *trying* to give me a heart attack?" Kon asks, settling back down on the couch as Tim stands in front of him. Tim looks kinda funny upside down, but so does everyone else, and that's a comforting thought. "I mean, I don't know if I can have one, but jesus. I'd rather not find out, you know?"

Tim smirks a little, his mouth doing that blink-and-you'll-miss-it lift at the corner thing. "Noted. Any reason you're upside down?"

Kon shrugs a little, and the motion makes him slide further off the couch. "I'm bored." Tim opens his mouth, and Kon just *knows* he's about to say something about working on his TK, or mock-up evacuation plans, or something else like that, and Batman is a sick bastard to make Tim think that sort of thing is *fun*.

"I'm bored, and I don't want to *do* anything," he clarifies, holding up (down? whatever.) his hand. He lets gravity pull his arm down to the floor with a thump. "And there's nothing on TV," he says, and yep, that was most definitely a whine.

Kon waits for the inevitable my-teammates-are-infants smirk from Tim, but instead Tim just tilts his head a little.

"Mind if I join you?" he asks, and Kon wasn't expecting that. Because Tim is productive and always always busy, and Kon doesn't think the Bats generally *do* Upside Down Boredom Time, even if the upside down part makes sense.

But Kon's cool, he can adapt, so all he says is, "Sure, man. Mi couch is su couch," as Tim hooks his legs over the back and does this really cool, slow drape over the cushions, controlling the fall of his upper body until his head is even with Kon's.

Well, not quite, because Tim's a little guy, and his head doesn't *quite* touch the floor, which means his hair is all sticking up or falling down, whichever it is from this perspective.

It makes him want to do something stupid, like try and smooth it back, but he's been working on *not* obeying stupid impulses, so he just says, "You look like you stuck your finger in an electrical outlet."

Tim's forehead wrinkles, and Kon *knows* there was an eye-roll behind the lenses of the mask. "Yeah, well, I'm not the one who watches Mexican soaps for the breasts."

Kon sputters, and thinks about saying something about how he's trying to practice his Spanish, and realizes that it would be futile. Because Tim *knows* him.

"And don't try to tell me you were practicing your Spanish."

Tim knows him way, *way* too well.

"You know, Wonder Boy, the psychic thing only makes you *more* of a freak," Kon says, and waits for Tim to snark back.

But Tim's busy trying to pull his cape out from under his body-- it's probably too tight around his throat like this-- and Kon looks over in time to see Tim lift his hips, thighs in relief through the tights, his fingers undoing the hook at his neck, and that's just. Way to close to things he thinks about when he's not thinking about anything except his right hand and how Tim's room is right across the hall.

Kon looks back at the television screen and swallows. Teresa-of-the-heaving-breasts is still crying, and maybe Tim's right, maybe it isn't Reinaldo's baby. Maybe it's the other guy, the one with the guitar and the ponytail, and really, Kon thinks, isn't that a little bit of a stereotype?

"I'm not psychic," Tim says. His gauntlet-covered hands are folded neatly across his stomach, just like the cape at the base of the couch. Kon has no idea how he managed to fold it up without moving.

"I'm not psychic," he says again, like maybe Kon didn't hear him.

"I know," Kon says, turning to look at him. And wow, Tim flipped the lenses back on the mask sometime during Operation: Cape Removal, and his face is really close and really red from being upside down, and it wouldn't take much at all for Kon to lean over and run his tongue across that lower lip--

And he'd swear on everything holy that he only *thought* about that, that he didn't actually *do* it, but somehow Tim's hands are folded up in Kon's hair, and his head is being pulled down (up?) to meet Tim's mouth again, and he's pretty sure that there are better, less awkward ways to do this. He's also pretty sure he doesn't fucking *care*, so long as Tim keeps doing that thing with his tongue on the roof of his mouth. And Tim *knows* that, and it's much better than being bored, so much better that Kon has to pull them both down to the floor where there's more room and less gravity to make things complicated.

It's easy to just roll Tim under him, and he really wishes that Teresa-of-the-heaving-breasts would stop fucking crying about Reinaldo, because this is up there with than beating the shit out of bad guys, and flying, and maybe even balloon animals, and there is no reason why *anyone* should be crying when Tim is making out with him on the floor of the Titan's TV room, and jesus god, that's Tim's hand on his ass, and Tim's thigh grinding up right *there*--

"Oh, *fuck*," and he's not going to last, not at all, not when Tim's hands are shoving his shirt up and shoving his jeans and boxers *down* and, christ, he's not even stroking and that's it, that's *it* because he's busy panting into Tim's ear and coming all over those goddamn gauntlets.

And at least he's not the only one with no self-control, because Tim quakes below him and gasps a heartfelt, "*Shit*" a just a few seconds later, and Kon really thinks Tim needs to swear more often.

He thinks he'd be more than willing to help. It'd be a little like giving Spanish lessons. Only there'd be copulation instead of conjugation, and Kon thinks that's actually pretty funny and laughs a little with his mouth pressed against Tim's neck.

Tim makes a small sound low in his throat, and Kon figures it either means, "What's so funny?" or "Kory is standing in the doorway with a camcorder, and I'm coming up with possible strategies against blackmail," and there's nothing he can do at the moment if it's Kory, so he just sucks a little at the skin above Tim's collar.

"Still bored?" Tim's voice is amused, and hair is sticking out in all directions like pins in a pincushion.

"Nah," Kon answers, propping himself up on his elbows. "Knew you'd think of something better to do. Especially since you're psychic and all."

Tim rolls his eyes, and this time Kon can see it. "I am not." He sounds like he wants to be annoyed, but is just too relaxed. Kon grins. Orgasms will do that to a person.

"Liar," he says, rolling back over to cover Tim again. "You are so psychic. Read my fucking mind."


End file.
